Chapter 1: Chapter One: Ancient Books in the Jar, Lone Sword in the Box

Dongmi Province.

Xiao Ganshan, Xuanzhen Sect.

“The finances have been settled, but aside from the carriage seals and insignia of LeShanfang, Chen Shizhi must also hand over the Bai Lu magic sword bestowed by Yan Zhen Jie. Oh, and there’s one more thing—I nearly forgot…”

At this moment.

Inside a cave dwelling of Xuanzhen Sect.

A short, stout man clad in the robes of an Officer Daoist stroked his few short chin hairs.

He led the petite girl in purple ruqun a few steps forward, sat down on a wooden chair he found for himself with a smile, glanced around, then asked the cave’s owner in a gentle tone:

“During the last sect gathering, Yan Zhen Jie won three hundred Zhongfu Pills as a prize. Yan Ping Shidi claims he saw it with his own eyes, yet when we sorted through Yan Zhen Jie’s belongings, we found only two hundred fourteen. He specifically asked me to mention it—do you have any idea what happened?”

Looking around.

The scene here could rightly be called desolate.

Aside from the bed, desk, and other mundane items, there were no gold, jade, or precious ornaments, let alone the famed pearls, rare stones, coral, tortoiseshell, seven-jewel agate, or beaded necklaces rumored to have been here.

The Officer Daoist mused.

Even his father-in-law’s secret courtyard, hidden beneath Xiao Ganshan from his wife and daughter, was ten times more luxurious than this.

Someone had come ahead and looted it.

Or perhaps this young Daoist was not as favored as the rumors claimed?

The Officer Daoist cast a single questioning glance and dismissed the latter thought.

The young man before him wore a plain white robe with no adornments; his tall frame seemed to merge with the daylight, his hair tied simply with a plain green wooden hairpin, his wide sleeves and robes spotless and untainted by dust.

His strikingly beautiful eyebrows and eyes always carried a chill, as if perched atop distant, mist-shrouded peaks—always visible, never attainable.

Yet his bearing was clear, serene, and profound, like a spring mountain kissed by light rain—calm, gentle, and deeply tranquil.

No wonder Yan Zhen, while alive, went to any lengths to lure him into Xuanzhen Sect.

Not just women.

Even men, for a moment, would be dazzled by his grace.

Even as the Officer Daoist stared in astonishment, his daughter—the girl in purple ruqun—had widened her dark eyes, her face flushed with suppressed excitement and curiosity.

“At last, it has come again—the karmic thread of this body—”

Chen Hang, having waited long, clenched his fingers and forced down his inner unease, then smiled lightly as if nothing were amiss:

“The LeShanfang seals are here, but the Zhiwu carriage was taken the other day by another Officer Daoist, sent by Yan Ping. You’re a bit late, Uncle.”

Chen Hang extended the small green-and-white seal he had held in his palm for a long time.

Before the Officer Daoist could reach for it, the girl beside him rushed forward first.

When their hands touched, Chen Hang felt nothing, but the girl’s cheeks flushed crimson, even her earlobes turning red.

She clutched the seal to her chest but did not retreat.

She lowered her head, as if wanting to say something more.

Yet before she could stammer a word,

the Officer Daoist leapt up in fury, snatched her by the arm, and pulled her behind him.

“I shouldn’t have believed that brat’s nonsense! Why did I bring her to witness this? When we get back, I’ll let her mother scold her till she cries!”

His heart burned with rage; he tightened his grip on her wrist.

“As for the Bai Lu sword—”

Chen Hang acted as if he had seen nothing.

“The Bai Lu sword is a flying magic treasure. I have not yet achieved Tai Xi, nor entered the path of immortality—how could I possibly command it?”

“Then, what do you mean?”

The Officer Daoist glared at the girl again, raising his hand as if to strike her on the head—but whether out of caution for Chen Hang’s presence or reluctance to hurt her, his arm rose and fell several times before he lowered it.

These two must be father and daughter.

Chen Hang thought.

“If the Bai Lu sword isn’t with you, could it possibly be with another musician in LeShanfang? Who else but you could have received such favor?” The Officer Daoist finally turned to look at him, his gaze now tinged with irritation.

Chen Hang shook his head:

“Not at all. Only when Yan Zhen Shuji took the carriage out did she temporarily lend me the Bai Lu sword to carry. Once we returned to the sect, she reclaimed it. Normally, neither I nor any of the musicians in LeShanfang ever even saw the sword.”

“Oh?”

The Officer Daoist was slightly startled.

“Yan Zhen Shuji feared I might kill myself in solitude, so she never kept any sharp objects near me—even my hairpin had its tip ground down by a Daoist acolyte before being sent to me, let alone a sword.”

Chen Hang explained calmly, his voice devoid of emotion.

“Then… the Bai Lu sword?”

“Before Yan Zhen Shuji was assassinated, the Jade Guan Child from Lianyan Mountain asked her for the Bai Lu sword to use as protection.” Chen Hang said coolly. “The Jade Guan Child is now eliminating demons in the northern ridges. This is known not only to me, but also to Yan Zhen Shuji’s father, Elder Yan. When the Jade Guan Child returns, Uncle, ask him directly—you’ll know the truth.”

“So that’s how it is? I understand.”

The Officer Daoist nodded skeptically, but before he could voice his next question, Chen Hang raised his hand to stop him.

“If you’re going to question me about the Zhongfu Pills, save your breath. False accusations need no justification. Those pills were never suitable for me anyway. After the assassination, I and everyone present were punished by Elder Yan and confined to the water dungeon for a hundred days. Not only were all my possessions seized, but even my personal zither was taken by the Xingfang Daoists.”

Chen Hang’s gaze grew dark.

“If Yan Ping wants to frame me, this excuse is too clumsy. I was already wounded by Xu Si and near death—how could he possibly believe he could outlive a dying man?”

The Officer Daoist looked at the young man’s pale, bloodless face and shook his head.

He felt a chill in his teeth, and for once, a rare pang of pity.

When Yan Zhen was alive, Chen Hang was treated like a plaything—summoned at will, dismissed at will, never allowed freedom within the mountain—but he was also honored.

At the age of puberty, he became the Music Director of LeShanfang.

Though everyone knew this position—and indeed the entire vast LeShanfang—was created solely by Yan Zhen to please Chen Hang, no one dared speak a word against it.

Because Yan Zhen’s father, Yan Feichen, was not only the foremost of Xuanzhen Sect’s Three Elders,

but his cultivation had already established the Dao Foundation and opened his Purple Palace.

Controlling clouds and lightning, levitating from the ground, turning iron to gold—all these were mere trivial arts to him.

At this realm, they were nothing.

If he could advance further, comprehend the Profound Mystery, and form a Golden Core, he could be called a True Person across all of Dongmi Province.

With such a background, before Yan Zhen’s death, Chen Hang could have acted with impunity.

Thanks to Yan Zhen’s doting affection.

In all of Xiao Ganshan’s Xuanzhen Sect, few could have stopped him.

Unfortunately, Yan Zhen died suddenly—murdered on her way back from visiting friends by the Western Sea hermit Xu Cuo, who severed her soul with a single sword, denying even rebirth.

Many of her attendants were caught in the battle; half of the forty died.

Chen Hang barely survived, but was struck by Xu Cuo’s true qi, enduring daily torment as cold poison gnawed his organs.

Even so,

afterward, he was punished by Yan Feichen and confined to the water dungeon for a hundred days, worsening his injuries.

Today, he could not even retain his position in LeShanfang; his seals and carriage had to be handed over to the Officer Daoists for inventory and registration.

Thus, one thing after another,

even the most naive person would realize: Chen Hang was no longer what he once was…

“If Yan Zhen Jie were still alive, how would the Xingfang Daoists dare demand bribes from you? Who in the sect would dare strip you of your position in LeShanfang? Now they even take your zither?”

Recalling the past, the Officer Daoist sighed deeply and fell silent, no longer bothering to speak.

The Zhongfu Pills matter was merely a fabricated charge, arranged by Yan Ping at his request.

Today, he learned Yan Ping had already seized the most valuable item in this cave—the Zhiwu carriage—and left him not a single drop of profit.

Recalling how Yan Ping had asked him to do favors yet offered no gift, the Officer Daoist now had no desire to get involved in this mess.

“It is my duty to collect the seals as ordered by the sect—I came here to play the villain. I apologize for the intrusion.”

After politely bowing to Chen Hang,

he caught sight of his daughter’s shy, blushing expression.

A sudden, nameless rage flared in his chest; he snatched the green-and-white seal from her hands and tested it with his true qi.

Seeing the seal’s spiritual glow was correct, he turned and hurried to leave.

“Wait.”

Chen Hang suddenly called out to stop him.

“My… my cousin—”

Recalling the face from this body’s memories, Chen Hang frowned and asked:

“Where has the sect placed his corpse?”

“Cousin? Wait—you mean the one who brought you up the mountain with Yan Zhen Jie?” The Officer Daoist paused, then realized:

“He’s been placed in the mortuary beneath Xiao Ganshan. There are Zhuanren assigned to guard him. Do you wish to take his body back to your ancestral village?”

“Before he died, he specifically asked me to bury him in our ancestral land. I’ll honor his wish.”

“You have great magnanimity!”

The Officer Daoist praised him, and as he turned to leave, his peripheral vision caught Chen Hang’s hand as he bowed.

Beneath the wide sleeve,

a red cord tied around his wrist.

“That thing! Isn’t that the talisman to the Earth Abyss? This boy has audacity beyond measure!”

The Officer Daoist’s heart leapt sharply.

He paid no heed to the girl’s searching gaze or her faint struggles.

The Officer Daoist let out a dry chuckle, grabbed her like a rabbit, and said nothing more.

As soon as they left the cave dwelling, he wrapped both of them in true qi and shot into the sky as a streak of golden flame.

In an instant, they vanished into the clouds, leaving no trace.

……

“Finally gone—did I leave no trace?”

Seeing the two finally depart, Chen Hang’s heart eased slightly, and his tightly wound spirit relaxed a little.

Fortunately, the one who came was someone unfamiliar with this body.

Though Chen Hang had absorbed the lingering memories, in subtle gestures and movements, he could not help betraying oddities to those close to him.

But.

If we speak of close ones.

Aside from the deceased female Daoist Yan Zhen.

In the Xuanzhen Sect of Xiao Ganshan, did this body have no other person who could be called close?

Chen Hang stopped thinking further and formed a hand seal.

The mountain walls on either side rumbled loudly, soon merging together, sealing the entrance as if they had always been naturally whole.

“Immortal Dao… Immortal Dao…”

Chen Hang sat upon the meditation cushion, surveying the empty stone chamber, lost in thought.

The one who had struggled for six long years on a hospital bed in the modern world, abandoned by his parents, and who had died alone on the eve of New Year’s Eve—could he truly have been reborn into the body of this boy with the same name?

This utterly different world, a golden age of the Immortal Dao, thriving as the sun at noon.

“Here… can I seek immortality?” Chen Hang lowered his lashes, his thoughts surging like a tide.

But before he could think further,

a sudden chill erupted violently from his chest, brutally cutting off all his thoughts.

The surging cold air clung to him like a gown woven from within outward, spreading from his five viscera to his skin; each pulse brought piercing, icy pain that gnawed into his bones.

“Why is it happening again?!”

Chen Hang’s expression twisted; he suddenly vomited black blood, his ten fingers digging desperately into the hard ground, veins bulging across his neck.

The unbearable cramping intensified with every breath, blood rising raw from his throat, his insides burning as if aflame, pierced as if by needles.

Only after dozens of breaths did the chill retreat like a coiled serpent, silent and unseen, as if it had never been.

At this moment, in the bitter cold of the twelfth lunar month, sweat soaked his forehead and back.

“Xu Si, Cold Dip True Qi.”

Chen Hang slowly pushed himself up from the ground; blood droplets rolled from the torn gaps between his fingers, making a sound like tearing paper:

“Two lives, and still I cannot escape this plague—how absurd.”

He clenched his fingers, unconsciously gripping something from the pouch at his waist.

The warm, translucent, smooth texture that met his palm eased his heart, as if all his tangled thoughts had been swept clean.

“Jin Chan—I never expected you to come with me into this life, still manifesting your marvels. What a stroke of fortune.”

Chen Hang opened his hand, gazing at the luminous, exquisitely carved jade cicada in his palm.

“But now, in this situation, where should I go?”

Clutching gently the jade cicada he had once found by chance in a stream in his past life, and which had mysteriously followed him into this Immortal Dao world, Chen Hang fell into thought:

“Also.”

“The entanglements of this body… they’re truly troublesome.”